The Lengths We Go To For Those We Love
by starshards
Summary: Before the madness and the bloodshed. Before his desperate fight against the clock, Kuja was a little boy struggling to understand what makes him different and why a certain blonde haired baby provokes such foreign emotions in him. [Slight spoiler]


Disclaimer: If I was a genius like Sakeguchi, I would not be living in a semi- detached house in a suburb of Birmingham… I would be living in a detached house in a suburb of Birmingham. Other then that, all I own of Final Fantasy IX are two copies of the game (NTSC and PAL), a set of postcards, Zidane and Vivi figures, a toy Kuja and a big love of it.

* * *

_Alone for a while I've been searching through the dark_

_

* * *

_

The sound of soft humming emitted from finely cut crystals, casting the room in a soft, white light. It was marvellous to him, even after experiencing the lights for all of his life. They were beautiful and somewhat bewitching, and though they paled in comparison to the 'blue light' that the others seemed to worship, he felt safer in these dim corridors.

In truth, the blue light frightened him. There was a strange, mesmerising pull towards it that left him feeling helpless. It was far too easy to fall into the trap of watching it for hours, and that lack of control scared him. Just thinking about the light made him feel both excited and nauseous. So he stuck to the duller pathways, lined with sparkling, clear crystals powered by some ancient and arcane magic that kept them alight and though that light flickered and shifted due to the fine patterns within gemstones, they never once had gone out. At least as far as his lifespan was concerned.

It had intrigued him from a young age. How could the light never go out? That bought to him a startling discovery. The concept of forever, and with it, an understanding of time. He knew, almost automatically from a young age that he could not see time, yet as his body grew in size, he knew that something was happening to cause this strange transition. Growth. Time. Forever.

And so his desire to learn was set into motion. As a young boy, he was naturally inquisitive and sought to discover why things happened the way that they did. He had tried approaching some of his peers and asking them questions, but their answers were largely monosyllabic, and left him feeling frustrated. They also left him feeling lonely. To him, being ignored and having his enquiries shunned saddened him and he began to talk to himself, preferring his own company, because, as he was forced to learn, the only person in his life he could believe in was himself.

At the age of six, while exploring the pathways and searching out the 'secret' corridors of his home, he had come into contact with the very man who had created him. He had known from the start that he was regarded as a failure by this man, and so, had rarely seen anything of him. Yet when they bumped into one another in that fateful day, the man that his people referred to as 'The Lord', had simply watched him, a strange expression upon his face.

'What are you doing child?' The Lord had asked.

'I'm looking, Lord.' His answer had been. The Lord looked perplexed for a moment.

'For what?'

The question had thrown him. What was it that he _was_ looking for? He had never considered actually looking _for_ something. It just gave him something to do. 'I don't know Lord.' He had said after a time, 'I am just looking.' The Lord had been taken aback by his answer and he had felt panic well up in him, thinking that he had done something wrong. And then the Lord had smiled.

'Do you like these lights, child?'

The question confused him, but he spoke up nonetheless. 'Yes Lord, I think that they are beautiful, but I-' he stopped himself before he could go further, hoping that The Lord had not picked up on his slip up.

He was not so lucky. 'But what, child?' He felt fear rise up in him. Others had simply ignored him, would this man ignore his silly question too? Or would he reprimand him? He was ready to make up a false answer, but the man spoke up again. 'But what?' This time the voice speaking to him was softer and more encouraging.

He swallowed his fear and asked his long unanswered question. 'How is it that they never go out Lord? Will they stay alight forever or will they go out one day?'

In response, The Lord had simply smiled as if he had made one of the most pleasing discoveries of his life.

'Do you have a name, child?'

A name? The word was mostly foreign to him. He had an idea that it was some kind of label, but he didn't know that people could have them too. He had voiced his thoughts and this time, The Lord had grinned and answered; 'A special child like you should have a name.'

His question had gone still unanswered, but The Lord had not ignored him, or told him that his question was irrelevant. Instead he had plied him with books, taught him how to read and given him the most precious gift he had ever received- a name.

A name. _His_ name. His first real possession of any value. It made him feel superior to the others who still remained without their defining title, as if he had been endowed with a fine and marvellous gift that set him apart from everyone else. He was reading and gaining an insight into things that none other then he knew, apart from The Lord himself. It had given him a sense of power and belonging.

And his thirst for knowledge had grown.

He sighed softly, his mind drifting back to the present. His tail twitched subconsciously as he reached out with his magic- his _life force_- testing the air for any magic charms that would block his path. Sensing none, he stalked onwards, utterly silent as he continued on in his journey. He knew that he was being foolish. These errands could not go unnoticed forever, yet he would not stop, not even at the risk of his own safety. Zidane had cried last night, frightened for his brother and out of fear of being lonely. He had tried to calm the boy down, not wishing to be late for his appointment with Garland. As he had left the sobbing boy in his room, he had vowed that today he would repay him, and so, there he was a day later and still aching, on something that could only be described as a fool's errand.

Still, Kuja couldn't help but smile when he thought of the way that Zidane had grinned when he said that he was going to get him a new present. Sighing, he continued on his journey, falling into a trance- like state, he allowed his mind to wander as he kept his body in tune with his surroundings.

Four years ago, he had first witnessed those big, blue eyes, and something inside of him had snapped. Somehow, that gaze had managed to pierce into his heart, chipping away at the layers of ice that had formed from his eight years of near total isolation at an alarming rate, and left him breathless. The raw surge of emotion had caught him off guard, and he had almost fallen to his knees, feeling choked by the overwhelming sensations within him. Yet it was almost… pleasant.

In that moment, Kuja had learned that he had found another person that he could believe in. The child was different from the others. He knew that they were kin, but somehow, the little baby before him was infinitely more meaningful to him. For the first time, he felt a real bond towards someone. As if to confirm his suspicions Garland had turned to him and nodded.

'He has a name, like you. He is called Zidane.' Kuja had nodded, amazed and fighting the urge to pick the little boy up. His reaction had confused him greatly, and he could not understand why he should feel such startling and illogical feelings for another. He later learned, upon reading various texts, that what he was experiencing was love, or more precisely, the love for a brother.

On that day, he had been given a gift more precious then a name.

Despite being only eight years old, Garland had given Kuja charge over his little one, and so, Kuja had dedicated himself to a new cause- raising Zidane to be like him. He wanted him to be special like he was. He wanted him to look at things and wonder 'why', wanted him to have a mind sharp enough to challenge him one day. But unlike him, he wanted Zidane to know what it was to have companionship. He felt that it was almost too late for him and that he had been narrowly saved. He did not want such a close call with Zidane. Most of all, he wanted Zidane to never know what loneliness was.

And so he had loved the child. Though still just a child himself, he gave his life over to the tiny boy. He learned how to do the necessary things like changing him and feeding him from dusty old tomes he found in the library, dull from their years of abandonment, but still valuable.

The rest he had guessed at. He had read that it was deemed appropriate to make your child seem loved, but he had little idea of how to do so correctly, so he had looked back into his earliest memories, seeking fragments of memories that would tell him what would have made his own early childhood happy. In the end, he came to the simple conclusion that company was the thing he had most desired. He had wanted the luxury of being listened to and not being made to feel like an outcast because he wanted to _feel_ things and experience emotions, like happiness and amusement, unlike the others who regarded emotion as an illogical waste of energy.

In the end, he simply talked. Talked about himself, talked about Zidane, talked about his plans, or what he was learning. He talked because for the first time, he had someone to listen, and because, Zidane seemed that little bit more content when he did. Kuja somehow felt that by chatting away for hours to the baby Zidane was something that both of them needed. It formed a bond between them and gave them both the uncomplicated satisfaction of being acknowledged. When he felt the need to study, Kuja would make a compromise of his two most loved tasks, and would end up reading passages out loud to Zidane. It mattered not to him that his little brother could not understand, the intent blue eyes upon him as the baby watched him, enraptured with his voice told him that Zidane was listening to every word.

And then one day, upon reading a story that had required him to mimic the sound of a cat (though he truthfully had no idea how this 'cat' sounded), Zidane had pulled a strange expression. It was utterly foreign to the eight year old Kuja, and he had found himself intrigued once again. Zidane had watched him with those wide, innocent blue eyes and gurgled- a noise that Kuja had come to recognise as a sound of approval. His mouth had been open and pulled up at the sides. Not knowing why, Kuja had felt warmth spread through him.

It had taken him a while to realise that his mouth too had pulled up at the sides. He had touched shaky fingertips to his lips, but that only confirmed his enquiry. Kuja had been alarmed, yet somehow, he knew that this was a good thing. He realised that he often felt this way when he looked upon the form of his little brother, though it was distinctly stronger at that moment. Upon reading, Kuja had learned that this was a 'smile'- '_A facial expression characterized by an upward curving of the corners of the mouth and indicating pleasure, amusement, or derision._'

Kuja had smiled often after that day.

Kuja's mind jolted from his memories when he sensed movement in front of him. Pressing himself into the nearest alcove, he waited with bated breath. He couldn't afford to be found sneaking around this area, especially not after last night.

His patience paid of when he heard the sound of a body emerge from the room he was headed for and shuffle off in the opposite direction. He waited for the sound of footsteps to recede before he let out a breath of relief. Slowly, he emerged from his niche, and tested the air once again with his own magic. Satisfied, he smirked and continued on towards his destination. Luck had saved Kuja once again. He knew that one day his luck would run out on him, but until then, he would keep on with his little missions. Though he had no idea why, he knew that Garland would take action against him for finding and taking those little baubles that Garland seemed to treasure so much as gifts for Zidane. Still though, it was worth the price, he considered. It wasn't like he was unused to mistreatment from Garland.

Three years ago, when Kuja had been nine and Zidane one, Garland had visited them. It wasn't an anomaly; Garland often made a point of seeing how his 'two favourite children' were doing, most of the time, just to see if Kuja was keeping Zidane in good health. If he was surprised or pleased with how well Kuja had done, he didn't show it. That was one of the first signs that things between them had changed. Before Zidane had been born, Garland had poured his interest into Kuja and developing him into a powerful and intelligent man, but over the year since Zidane had been born, he had little by little, shown less interest in Kuja. At first Kuja had felt confused. Then the hurt had come when he saw the way that Garland's eyes lit up when he observed Zidane, then jealousy, before he had settled on anger. He had found himself questioning his Lord for the first time. 'How dare he ignore me?' He had thought, 'How dare he look at Zidane in such a way' and mostly; 'if he tries to take Zidane away from me, I will kill him'.

Such strong, impassioned thoughts were startling to Kuja, but, after becoming inseparable to Zidane, he somehow felt very threatened by the man's interest in his little brother. Zidane was the only good thing in his life. What would happen if Garland took him away from him and raised him as his own little brother? Would Zidane forget about him?

Kuja was thankful that this did not happen. What he was not thankful for was Garland's newfound interest in Kuja on the day of Zidane's first birthday.

Kuja shivered a little as he entered the cold, circular room and scanned it once; assuring himself that it was indeed empty. Moving further inside, he stood near the centre and took in what was on offer.

He had discovered this room nearly two years ago and had gotten into serious trouble for it. Garland informed him that it was strictly off limits to him, which he failed to understand because, to him, it seemed extremely harmless. His first thought had been that it was a library, and now, ten months later, he thought much the same, except in this case, what lined the stacks and stacks shelves were not books and scrolls, but orbs.

After the threat he had received, it had taken him a while to find the nerve to go back, but before long his curiosity had won the better of him and he had found himself back in that cold room that seemed to emit a feeling of ancient knowledge. To say that Kuja was drawn to it was an understatement. In fact, it was almost as potent as the Blue light, only this did not make him feel ill or helpless. It made him feel a strange sense of contentment.

Initially, on his first proper visit, Kuja had stolen something that looked to him like a small crystal ball. Thinking that Zidane would like it very much, he had returned to their room and had told Zidane to keep his gift a secret. It had only been when Zidane was happily playing with it had it proved to be far more then a simple pretty decoration.

Somehow, Zidane had managed to push a button that had been invisible to Kuja upon his inspection. The depression of that button had activated the orb and in that moment, they had witnessed their first taste of another world.

Upon activation, the orb had proved to be some kind of memory- storing device, Kuja had concluded as the orb began to glow and bright and flickering images had been projected into the air only five inches above it. They watched awed as two figures ran into what looked to be a mass of blue, laughing and waving their arms around. At one point, they had begun to splash the blue substance at one another, which Kuja soon realised was water. Soft murmurs sounded faintly from the orb, ancient whispers crossing time and space to be with them there in that small room and absorbing them. Inviting them to share in their joy. And then the image had flickered and faded, the sounds disappearing with them.

It had only taken one glance at Zidane's delighted grin to convince him that they needed more.

And so, there he was, on another of his silly missions. Of course, he himself enjoyed learning about the world of the past. He loved it far more then this joyless place, and one day, when he was powerful enough, he would take himself and his little brother, and perhaps even Mikoto, if she proved to be like them, away to that world, where they could play in the ocean and talk to other people who would listen to their stories.

Kuja smiled at his hopeless fantasy and grabbed a small blue orb, feeling somehow drawn to it. After all, this place was restricted, and he could not afford to stand there for too long, agonising over which to choose. He placed the orb in the folds of his threadbare over shirt and reached into his pocket, fishing out the one that he had taken last time and setting it down in the place of his newest find.

With haste, though not too much to make his plight even more risky then it already was, Kuja exited the room and headed back to his own housing, clutching tight to his gift. He knew what would happen if Garland decided to visit and he wasn't there.

He had learned just how cruel his Lord was the day that Zidane turned one. He had learned the concept of 'birthday' four months before hand and he had discovered that it was a celebration of sorts, in commemoration of the day that you entered the world. Kuja didn't actually know what day Zidane had been born on, so he took the day that he had met him to become his birthday.

He had taken Zidane into his arms and danced around with him, celebrating, like the book had said and revelling in the screams of laughter it drew from his little brother, when Garland had walked in. Immediately Kuja had stopped singing and had stilled, carefully placing Zidane down on a stool for inspection. Garland gave him what could only be described as a black look before he swept past the startled boy and kneeled down before his charge.

After a few tense moments his Lord had spoken 'I see that you have taught him to laugh Kuja.' Something in the tone set off a warning in Kuja's mind and he took a step back.

'No, I-I didn't teach him Lord.' He had responded meekly.

Garland had swung around, eyes blazing in anger. 'Oh? So who did then _boy_?' Kuja had winced and moved further back, swallowing the sudden urge to run when his back slapped against a wall.

'H-he taught himself Lord. One day he just, just laughed.'

He remembered the sudden burst of pain he had felt when the powerful Lord had grabbed his upper arm and pulled him harshly forward. He felt another hand coming to tangle in his silvery locks, pulling individual strands out and causing him to whimper as Garland made him look upon his little Zidane.

'You've got him laughing and smiling, what else have you done to him boy? Do you realise that you are raising your own replacement?' Kuja had writhed around, trying to get out of the vice- like grip. 'Stupid little boy! You are nothing but a faulty prototype, but…' the hands had moved away from him and he fell to the floor, his strength gone, he had been paralysed with fear. The hand previously in his hair, rested atop his head, smoothing his hair down. He felt dread well up in him when Garland began to toy with the feathers in his hair, deep in thought. 'You have _some_ use. You may be defective, but you've still got the same chemical make- up as him, and I suppose I can still _do_ something with you.' That said, Garland had taken his arm in his grip once again and pulled him up before dragging him away.

'Wait! Lord, what about Zidane?' Kuja had pleaded.

Garland didn't even glance at him. 'Take care of him when you get back.'

Kuja snapped his mind back to the present. That day he had learned what it was to feel real pain. It seemed, that since he had a similar kind of mind, genes and most importantly a _soul_, like Zidane (it turned out that they were the only two, until two years before when Mikoto was born, though they still were not sure whether she did have a soul yet) he was suitable test material. Garland had not been gentle. From that day, Garland had summoned him regularly, sometimes once a day, sometimes once a week (Kuja had long since learned to gauge time by observing the red moon in the sky) depending on the kind of treatment he was to receive.

Garland seemed to have lost patience with him and was hurrying him along for some unknown cause. No longer did he teach Kuja magic, but forced it into him using syringes and other ancient technology. He tested the effects the different electrical currents, narcotics and temperature had on him and analysed the data as Kuja had screamed for him to stop.

Even after two years Kuja was not used to the agonies he underwent when he visited his master, yet he continued to submit mostly out of fear for Zidane. Once Kuja had been the wonderful child. Now Zidane was. Would Garland one day decide that Zidane was not wonderful anymore and create an even more perfect child?

Kuja couldn't risk it. He could deal with the pain and he could deal with the fact that, despite being only twelve, he was teetering on the edge of insanity, as long as Zidane was kept out of harms way.

Garland had once called Kuja his 'Angel of Death'. Kuja had thought it a grand title until he had learned what it had meant. He liked being called an angel, as he had read that they were beautiful and powerful, though he felt cheated by his lack of wings, but he didn't like the death part. He had read up on that too, and learned that Death was when the body stopped working and the people inside went away forever, and Kuja found that very sad. He didn't want to be an angel of a sad thing, so he carried on subjecting himself to torturous experiments so that Garland would never call Zidane his Angel of Death.

Not Zidane, his joyous, rambunctious little Zidane.

He pushed the door to his room open, taking one last glance around the empty corridor behind him before entering.

'Kuja!' he saw the grinning little blonde of his thoughts, perched upon their bed. He looked tired, yet he had waited for his big brother to return.

'Zidane, I told you to get some sleep.' He said with mock sternness and moved over to sit upon the covers.

'Couldn't! Too excited! You get one?' Zidane rushed, jumping slightly in his enthusiasm.

Kuja chuckled and reached into his robe, pulling out the smooth crystal sphere. 'Here.' He replied, handing it over to the delighted little boy besides him.

Zidane snatched it from his hands and pressed the button, sparing not a second. The orb shimmered in agreement and warmed his small hands as he cradled it.

Sound came first and they heard a noise that they had only heard once or twice before.

'_Arf_!' The image came, showing some kind of furry creature running and leaping gaily as a man tossed some item or another, causing the animal to run off madly in the same direction. They heard people laugh.

Zidane watched in absolute silence, cerulean eyes glittering in the soft light, wide with awe and fascination.

'What is that?' he gasped when the image looped back to the start and began re-playing.

Kuja frowned as he tried to recall something he had read a long while back before smiling. 'It's called a dog Ziddy, it's a domesticated animal that is often friendly and affectionate' he explained, knowing that Zidane didn't follow the majority of what he said, but telling him anyway because he had asked.

Zidane nodded and yawned. Kuja smiled and reached forwards, relieving his brother's small hands of the glassy sphere and shutting the pictures off. He set it to one side before returning his attention back to Zidane and pushing him gently in order to make him lie down. Zidane yawned again and snuggled up to him when he climbed under the blankets himself. He felt somewhat drained and almost immediately began to doze.

'I would very much like to see a dog one day' Zidane spoke up, his voice quiet from his tiredness. Kuja smiled to himself.

'You will Ziddy, one day, I promise.' His little brother looked up at him, his eyes trusting and full of adoration. Kuja leaned down to place a kiss upon his forehead, smirking when Zidane's face scrunched up for a moment before settling back into a light doze.

'Thank you for my present, Kuja.' He whispered, struggling to keep awake.

Kuja closed his eyes and smiled contentedly. 'Go to sleep Ziddy.'

* * *

_In my dearest memories, do you remember loving me?_

_

* * *

_

In a different time upon a different world, in the boughs of a twisted, decaying tree, a dying young man sighed to himself as he allowed himself to be cradled in the arms of his one time enemy.

Why now? He wondered, as the memory left him. He would have laughed if not for the fact that it was so hard to breathe. A life of regrets. A life of massacres and insanity and yet now, as he lay dying he had been visited by a long forgotten memory of happier times. How ironic. All along he had thought that he had been nothing but a selfish megalomaniac, narcissist, yet in the end he realised, it was all for the only person that he had ever loved.

Memories of a life, forgotten in madness, revisited him as he felt his life force slowly drain away and his eyes became harder and harder to keep open. He supposed that it was always going to end like this, with a lifespan as limited as his, but somehow he knew that it was fate that he should die in the arms of his brother.

He looked up at the one who had once been so dear to him, and in a way, still was. He looked so young, too young to look so sad. Kuja was vaguely aware that he was speaking to him through his tears, probably the same nonsense that people always spoke when they knew that you were going to die, but he did manage to catch the last part of his brother's final words to him as the warmth of his tears gently splashed against his cheek.

'Thank you Kuja.'

Kuja closed his eyes and smiled contentedly. 'Go to sleep Ziddy.'

* * *

_Was it fate that brought us close and now leaves me behind?_

_

* * *

_

Kinda sad I think, but I liked the idea of looking into Kuja's life when he was younger. After all, he was a little boy once.

I killed Kuja though! ;;

This is the second version I've had to put up. It took me a while to realise that the formatting of this was horrendous. The 'editing' feature on here completely disregarded my paragraph spacing (like beween the jumps from past to present which were initially broken up better and less confusing) and prevented me from using the '-' symbol to highlight the lines of song. So I've had to use these hideous lines.


End file.
